Please Read the Letter
by ExLibris3
Summary: How do you tell someone goodbye? Why do you wait until your final moment to say all the things you've wanted to say for nine years? Jibbs. JD spoilers.
1. Part 1

_A/N: I never really wanted to write the letter Jen could have written Jethro in JD, but I got a line in my head and it wouldn't leave, so I wrote this fic. The title is from the song "Please Read the Letter", by Robert Plant and Alison Krauss. Hope you like it, and please review! Thanks!_

**Please Read the Letter**

_Dear Jethro,_

_I've been trying for days to come up with the best way to tell you this. There is no good way, but I need to do what is best for me, so I'm writing you this letter. I know you already understand something is wrong with me, you could always read me as good as I can read you. I lied to you before when you asked me is something was wrong with my health; I just couldn't stand telling you that I'm dying. By now you already know that, you just came from my funeral and you sit in your basement drinking bourbon and wondering what you could have done to save me. You couldn't have saved me, Jethro. No one could. This disease would be my death and to be honest I'd hoped for a more heroic way of dying. But I've leaned that sometimes you can't control your life. I'd wanted nothing more than to spend my final moments with you, but I couldn't let you watch me die. Remember on my first day as director, you told me you missed me. You probably also remember me struggling not to say it back. I wanted to, but I was director now, it wasn't like before and I knew we could never have what we had back in Europe. Too much had changed, I had changed, the situation had changed. But the only thing that never changed was my feelings for you. I don't know if you ever suspected, or knew, that I was still in love with you. But we both knew it would never be like it was. I'm sorry, Jethro, for so many things. I'm sorry for the secrets I kept from you, do not think I didn't trust you, I trusted you with my life, but my secret was a dangerous one and I didn't want you to get in trouble because of me. I knew you wouldn't stay out of it even if I asked you to; you wouldn't let me go after him by myself. I'm sorry that I had to leave you, but it was a choice I had to make, and it was neither easy nor fair. It's been wonderful to work with you, spend time with you, and love you. There's no easy way for me to say goodbye to you, but I have no other choice and I take this chance to be honest with you. Goodbye, Jethro._

_Promise me one thing; that you won't forget the good times we spent together. I never did. _

_And remember, we'll always have Paris. _

_Forever yours,_

_Jenny_

Her hand shook as she put the pen down. It shook more violently as she picked up the piece of paper and skimmed through what she'd written. It was definitely her best try yet. Her gaze traveled to the trashcan that was filled with balls of paper, evidence of just how hard it had been to find the right words to tell him what needed to be said. Her eyes were filled with tears and her cheeks were streaked with wet lines.

A tear fell, landing on the paper and almost smudged out the word _Paris_. She stared at the dark blotch just below the word that meant so much to her. This was it. These were her final words to Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Blinking away more tears, she folded the paper and placed it neatly in an envelope. On it she wrote _To Jethro._

She knew what she was going to do with it; she would give it to Ducky and ask him to give it to Jethro after her funeral. He would argue, of course, he had tried many times to convince her to tell Jethro she was sick. But she had stubbornly refused and Ducky had no choice but to accept her decision. She could still change her mind and talk to him, there was still time before the disease would claim her life. Not much time, but enough. But she could not stand looking into those stunningly blue eyes that always made her knees go weak and tell him she was dying. She simply couldn't.

She reached for the bottle of pills on her desk and swallowed one, lifting her glass of water to help wash it down.

She cast one last glance at the letter before grabbing it, heading toward the hallway to put on her coat and go give it to Ducky right away, before she'd change her mind and re-write it again. When she got home, she needed to pack her suitcase, find something appropriate to wear to Decker's funeral that she would be attending in California the next day.

* * *

_A/N2: There will be a second part, from Gibbs' POV. Btw, the secret she writes about in the letter is the La Grenouille thing. _


	2. Part 2

_A/N: Slight change of plans, there will be three parts to this story. This is a scene I never really thought I'd write, but I almost felt like I had to, and it was very hard to write. I hope I've done the moment justice. I also don't know if Jen has a sister or not, but I'm assuming now that she does. Though her mother is atill alive. Please review._

The past few days had been a blur, just a surreal blur and it almost felt like a dream. He almost wished it was, almost because he was horrified by the thought he would ever dream something like that.

But when he woke up on the morning of her funeral, he was clinging onto some kind of hope that it really had been just a dream, until he saw the note in the paper the funeral of NCIS Director Jenny Shepard would be held today. He ran his hand down his face, grabbed the coffee cup and drank from it, not even noticing the coffee was ice cold.

He was still in a sort of trance as he dressed in a suit and tie, preparing for a funeral he'd never thought he'd attend. He shut the door behind him with out locking it and drove off to go pick up Ducky.

He was barely aware of what he was doing; it was like he acted on autopilot as he swerved through the traffic. Ducky hesitantly attempted a conversation, but when Jethro gave him no response, he fell silent.

There was no one left to chase, no one to be angry at and no one to blame for her death. All that was left was to grieve.

It was a beautiful day, some said. The sky was blue, the sun warm on his face, a faint breeze making the flowers shiver and the leaves rustle. It was a beautiful day of May.

He almost wished it would rain. It would feel differently if it rained. Not differently as in better, just different. Like he would simply melt and sink into the soft, wet earth, where everyone he loved always seemed to end up way too soon. He almost wished it would rain so he could feel as though the raindrop were tears on his cheeks. He wasn't sure he had the strength to cry.

He stood amidst the crowd, Abby clutching his arm as sobs wrecked her body. Ziva was discreetly reaching toward McGee's hand and Tony was standing by himself, staring at Jenny's coffin with empty eyes. Still blaming himself. Jethro wasn't sure who he blamed. Maybe most of all he was blaming himself. He should have gone with her. He'd never had let her run off on her own – he knew her well enough to know she would be off to something dangerous, and she didn't want to put anyone else at risk. It didn't matter if she gave you a direct order – your job was to protect her and that was what you were going to do.

A redheaded woman had started talking – Jenny's sister, he assumed. They hadn't talked much about family, but their resemblance was remarkable. He couldn't bring himself to listen to what she said, even if he'd wanted to. The buzzing in his ears was too loud.

He stared at the flag draping the coffin – lost in his own memories of Jenny.

_Jenny shaking his hand, looking him in the eye with a sultry smile and he knew that in the end, he would not stand a chance._

_His arms around her quivering body, her tears staining his shirt as he tried to teach her how to accept the fact that this job involved killing people._

_The first time Leroy Jethro Gibbs kissed Jenny Shepard was in an overheated attic with no air conditioning on the French south coast. Her skin smelled of some flower he couldn't identify, mixed with the salty scent of sweat and the briefest hint of bourbon on her breath as she was suddenly so close he could feel it on his lips. Part of him wondered when they had moved to stand so close, part of him slightly unnerved by the close proximity but the bigger part of him were too preoccupied by the way her pupils expanded slightly, the way her lips were slightly parted, too preoccupied with slipping his hand around her waist. He never broke eye-contact as she tilted her head slightly upwards, causing her lips to gently brush his and it was like a spark was ignited, suddenly bursting aflame within him. He pressed his lips more firmly onto hers and felt her hands go up to tangle through his hair, pulling him impossibly close and he got the incredible feeling he was melting into her as her tongue pushed past his lips and began to explore the inner depths on his mouth._

_When he realized he loved her it was like a shock awakening. He'd known for a long time he was attracted to her, but when had he really started to think he loved her? He wasn't sure. Must have happened sometime along the way. Watching her sleep, the red hair splaying over his pillow, the sheet pooling around her waist, exposing a back he longed to run his hands over. The peaceful expression on her face, her still slightly swollen lips. He saw dust dance in the sunray that peeked through the gap in the curtains and lay across her face, making her hair glisten red-gold. She groaned, moved closer to his side to escape the light, her hand reaching for him, but found nothing. She stirred, dragged the back of her hand across her face and rolled onto her back, her eyes open and searching for him. He smiled at her from the open balcony door. He could no longer ignore the way his heart fluttered when he looked at her._

"Jethro," Ducky's voice roused him from his thoughts. "It's over."

Jethro looked around. It was over. Jenny's sister placed a white rose on the coffin and more people were lining up, among them Ziva and McGee, still holding hands and carrying a white rose each. Ducky placed his hand on Abby's back and they went to stand behind Ziva and McGee. He saw the two women hug.

Not moving an inch as the gentle wind blew his hair across his forehead, he was still staring at the coffin, unable to believe this would be the last resting place of Jenny Shepard.

He waited until people began to leave, all having paid their last respects to Jenny Shepard. Some people who had known her wore traces of tears on their cheeks, the people who hadn't known her that well at least had the dignity of looking appropriately sad.

Ziva, McGee and Abby passed him on their way from the cemetery; they all knew he wanted a moment alone. Ducky nodded sadly at him as he passed behind the others.

Something nudged his arm, looking up he watched the back of Tony DiNozzo as he was moving forward to the coffin, a white rose in his hand. Jethro saw him draw heavy breaths as he gently dropped the rose onto the now large pile resting on Jenny's coffin. He saw his lips form words, managed to make them out as "I'm sorry." Then he left without sparing Jethro a glance.

Now it was just him left. He was just barely aware that his legs were moving, and suddenly he was standing next to the flag-draped coffin. He could do nothing but stare at it. Clutching the roses in his hand until a thorn pierced his skin.

He suddenly became aware of a presence behind his back, and turned his head around to find an elderly redheaded lady. She was looking back at him with large green eyes that were brimming with tears and seemed so familiar to him.

"Did you know my daughter well?" she asked as she moved closer to him, her eyes now set upon the pile of roses.

"Yeah," was all he could bring himself to say. He hadn't spoken all day and his voice sounded strangely thick and deep.

She cast one glance at the two roses he was still clutching; one red and one white. She didn't say anything, and he was glad she didn't. It was just a small gesture, but it spoke volumes and signified a statement he couldn't bring himself to say, or hear.

"Are you Jethro Gibbs?" Jenny's mother asked quietly.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Jenny has talked a lot about you," was the response she gave him. He didn't say anything more, and neither did she.

She placed her three white roses on her daughter's coffin, squeezed his hand lightly as she passed, the words she whispered into his ear hovered in the rose-scented air enveloping him, and he struggled between embracing them or rejecting them. He wasn't sure what would hurt the most.

He stared down at her coffin and it wasn't like at Kate's funeral. He didn't imagine it opening and her speaking to him. He couldn't possibly imagine what she looked like post mortem. He'd chosen not to know.

He leaned down and gently, almost lovingly, placed one of the two roses onto her coffin, the white one.

A minute passed. Another.

It felt so hard to walk away.

Eventually he placed a light kiss to the red petals, before carefully laying it down on the pile of white. Almost looking like a drop of blood on snow. Or her red hair on white sheets.

With a heavy heart he turned and walked away. Half-way between the car where Ducky was waiting, and the coffin, he stopped, not able to resist looking back even though he knew it would just make things harder.

It was a beautiful day, and he knew she had loved those the most. And in the bright sunshine he saw her, the wind making the long red curls caress her long neck and ripple around her face. She smiled at him, a kind of peaceful expression on her beautiful face that he hadn't seen since Europe.

He looked at her, not able to take his eyes of her smile, and lifted his hand to his forehead in a salute. Her laughter drifted to him with the wind, almost like a distant song. He gave her a short nod, then he blinked, and she was gone.

He stared at the spot where she'd just been standing, her mother's words finally sinking in.

_She loved you._

An errant tear spilled onto his cheek, and he almost wished it would rain. The sun dried the tear off his cheek all too quickly.

He wasn't sure when – or how – he managed to move to his car where Ducky was still waiting.

"She wanted me to give this to you after her funeral," Ducky said as he walked up to him, holding out the envelope with the words _To Jethro_ neatly written on it. He didn't look at it as he tucked it into his jacket.

_A/N2: Next part will be when he reads the letter. Thanks, and please review!_


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